


Spain on Romano

by writingandchocolatemilk



Series: SpaMano Oneshots [3]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M, spamano - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-18
Updated: 2015-01-18
Packaged: 2018-03-08 01:34:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3190844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingandchocolatemilk/pseuds/writingandchocolatemilk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone thought Romano was so angry. Even Veneziano thought that his brother was <em>always</em> in a sour mood. It was probably why Romano acted the way he did; when people always say you’re one thing, you start to become that thing.</p><p>Spain saw the little things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spain on Romano

Everyone thought Romano was so angry. Even Veneziano thought that his brother was _always_ in a sour mood. It was probably why Romano acted the way he did; when people always say you’re one thing, you start to become that thing.

Spain saw the little things.

The way Romano loved cursing, and how his face flushed with pride when he comes up with a particularly bawdy combination of words. Romano visiting Roman ruins, hands on his hips, mouthing the Latin to himself. The way Romano reads before a siesta, so content.

“Oh, brother, why are you so angry all the time?”

Spain interjected, “No, Veneziano, Romano isn’t angry all the time!”

Veneziano laughed, patting Romano on the head.

Later, at home, Romano pouted, glaring out the window at the late afternoon. Spain watched him, arms crossed, unsure of what to say. A fly buzzed against the window.

“Italy, you look so romantic, sitting there!” Spain finally exclaimed, walking over to sit with Romano at the kitchen table. “I should take a picture and frame it. So serious.”

Not many people saw Romano like this. Arms crossed, staring out the window, chewing on his lip and thinking about who-knows-what. He gave Spain a withering look, letting his head rest on the cool table.

“Fucking jackass.”

Spain sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Not many people understand you.”

 Each year, little pieces of Romano get chipped away. Spain watched as Romano was cut down by Rome, his brother, his own culture. Romano once had more little moments of peace, but they had been worn away by the word “angry.” He was still Romano, but less.

Spain treasured the little things, and hated seeing them go.

Romano used to swim in the ocean, laughing and splashing at the teenagers nearby. They visited the beach a few weeks later, and Romano was content to sit on the sand and read, eyes flicking up to watch the waves.

Spain had hung all of the paintings Romano used to create around his house. He had the old swords Romano used to collect in his attic, carefully polished. Spain still played the music Romano would sing decades ago. Years and years of abandoned hobbies and happiness, all because of that word “angry.”

Occasionally, Spain could convince Romano to dance with him; the Italian would curse and then break out into huge, sunny smiles as they spun around the kitchen.


End file.
